


Not the Summer of Love

by irisbleufic



Category: Toy Soldiers (1991)
Genre: Boarding School, Inspired by Music, M/M, Summer, Teenagers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2007-06-01
Updated: 2007-06-01
Packaged: 2018-01-01 21:53:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1049001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/irisbleufic/pseuds/irisbleufic
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>How <i>not</i> to spend your summer vacation, if you want to stay sane.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Not the Summer of Love

**Author's Note:**

> Originally written and posted to LJ in June 2007.

**Praying for Rain**

"So, um, yeah. We should keep in touch."

It was awkward. _Really_ awkward. So fucking awkward, in fact, that Billy wished his mother would lay on the horn again just so he'd have an excuse to shoulder his last two bags, give Joey a clap on the back, and walk out before his cheeks started burning. Too late for that, wasn't it, what with Joey staring at him as if he couldn't believe Billy had _actually_ uttered the Five Dreaded Words.

"Yeah," Joey echoed, as if he wasn't listening to himself. "We should."

"Really?" Billy heard himself respond, entirely too elated for his liking.

"Why not?" Joey shrugged, grinning at him, and the weird tension broke, rushing out of the room with a sudden, welcome breeze through the half-open window. "I've got nothing better to do this summer. You got a phone number, or do you like writing letters?"

"Fuck, yes," Billy said, mentally clapping a hand over his mouth. "I mean, uh. Right. Both. I've got a private line at Mom's place and at Dad's, but I'm not sure where I'll be for most of the summer, you know?"

"That doesn't help as far as addresses," replied Joey, rubbing his forehead as if he'd rather be smacking it. "Give me both your parents' places, and both phone numbers, too."

 _That's not a question_ , Billy thought, and fumbled around in the chaotic mess on Joey's desk for a pencil. He found a permanent marker, but he didn't dare touch any of Joey's scrap papers. "Give me your hand," he said. _Nice one_ , said the voice at the back of his head, but Joey was already holding out his hand.

"Are you sure you can fit it all?" he teased, watching Billy scrawl the phone numbers.

"No, asshole, I _can't_ ," Billy said, re-capping the marker. "Call me at Mom's place in a couple days, and I'll give you the addresses. I'll probably be with her for a while, seeing as she's bothered to drag her ass the whole way from Connecticut to get me."

"Your mom lives in Connecticut?" Joey asked, studying the back of his hand.

"Yeah," Billy said, grimacing. "New Haven."

" _Ouch_ ," said Joey, sympathetically. "What about your dad?"

"Upstate New York," Billy replied, just in time to hear his mother's impatient honking resume. "Not that far away. Listen, I've gotta go." He picked up his backpack and duffel, and they felt heavier than he'd remembered them being on his arrival at Regis toward the start of the school year. "Call me, okay?"

"Here," Joey said, grabbing the backpack off of him. "I'll see you off."

 _The fucking_ mother _of all awkward_ , Billy thought, and let him.

**Perfect As Strangers**

_You're pathetic_ , Joey told himself, dialing Billy's number with trembling fingers.

It wasn't that he _didn't_ want to keep in touch with Billy. Of course not. They'd gotten on better than, well, anybody in their circle of friends, and that was saying something. Snuffy either wanted in Billy's pants or wanted to punch him if he could figure out which part of his fist was supposed to connect with Billy's face: Joey wasn't sure which. Hank was cool with him, Ric was indifferent to him, and Phil was trying desperately to impress him. _Man_ , the swimming pool prank. If only Parker knew that Mr. Donoghue had dumped in more than half the boxes of tea bags himself!

On the third ring, somebody answered.

"Hello?"

 _Fuck_. Not Billy. A woman.

"Hi," Joey said, quickly, trying to decipher the name on his hand, which was mostly gone after two days of scrubbing. "Is this…Barbara?"

"Yes. With whom am I speaking?"

"Joey Trotta. I'm a friend of Billy's. From school," added Joey, quickly, realizing she might not know _which_ school, given Billy's record. "Regis."

"He's outside. I'll get him for you; one moment."

Joey tapped the edge of his desk for two minutes straight, occasionally able to hear Barbara shouting for Billy on the other end of the line. When Billy got there, the first thing that Joey heard was an exasperated puff of breath, as if the last thing Billy had wanted this to be about was a phone call. Joey's stomach knotted.

"Hey, look, can you get me out of here? Mom's driving me nuts already. Do I really have to stay for three weeks?"

Joey blinked. "Um. If I had my car, sure, but my father claims it's in the shop, and I don't think he's telling the truth. He wouldn't have let my cousin drive it even on a _good_ day. He just doesn't want me to go anywhere."

"Jesus _fuck_ , sorry," Billy muttered. "Mom didn't tell me it was you. Dad's the only person who calls me on this line."

"What, your friends use the _other_ one?" asked Joey, incredulously. "Your mom is scary."

"She's a bitch," said Billy, dismissively. "So, how's summer vacation treating you?"

"All two days of it? Miserable. The only person I've seen is Nonna, and all she does is tell me I need to cut my hair and get rid of the bracelets. You?"

"Who's Nonna?" Billy asked, perplexed—but genuinely interested, judging by his voice.

"Oh," Joey said, covering his eyes with his hand. "Sorry. My grandmother. Dad's mom."

"Is that Sicilian or something?"

"Nah, just Italian," replied Joey, grinning in spite of himself. "You didn't answer my question."

"I think I did," Billy muttered, and there was the sound of a desk chair squeaking across the floor as Billy dragged it. "The only person I've seen is Mom, and all she does is tell me I'm a moron. Any questions?"

"Not really," Joey said, seeking something, _anything_ to fiddle with. He caught hold of one of his Staedtler pencils and tapped it against the phone, thoughtful. "I kind of wish we were still at school. At least it isn't the ass-end of boring."

"I _knew_ it," Billy said, triumphant. "You secretly like to study."

"I secretly _love_ to study, what's your fucking point?"

"I don't know. If you ever owe me a favor, writing papers comes to mind."

"Hey, don't push it," Joey warned, idly sketching Billy's profile on the nearest piece of paper, which happened to be an exhibition flyer. He'd have to check it out—if he could _get_ out, which wasn't looking likely. "Suppose you owe _me_ a favor?"

Billy chuckled. "I'm not sure I ever want to be in that position."

"Supposing I _do_ bust you out of there?" Joey asked, catching the edge of challenge in Billy's voice. "Supposing I invite you to Jersey in July?"

There was a long moment of silence, as if Billy hadn't heard him. Joey bit his lip, scribbling out Billy's profile. What the fuck was he _doing_?

"Then I would _definitely_ owe you a favor," said Billy, sounding so relieved he might cry.

"I'll be merciful," Joey reassured him, and sketched a spiral, his hand shaking worse than before.

 

****

The Door Was Open

Billy hadn't planned on packing again so soon after leaving school, but he'd been given an offer he couldn't refuse. The fact that he'd rejected the same shirt three times suggested that the situation had gone beyond awkward and into ridiculous. Joey wasn't likely to give two shits about what he was wearing on any given day, but there _were_ those inexplicable moments when Joey let himself look longer than usual. Billy had always put it down to his artist's eye, but now he wasn't so sure.

"I'd hoped you'd stay a bit longer," said Billy's father, peering through Billy's bedroom doorway. "I'd been thinking about a drive out to the Cape."

"What, and risk running into Mom and her boy-toys out at the beach house?"

"She told me she's not using it this summer. We would've had it to ourselves."

"So much for shared property," Billy said, folding the first shirt he could get his hands on, slamming the drawer carelessly. "Sorry. It's just—" he paused, searching for words that sounded appropriately pathetic " – I haven't gotten to know anybody in a while."

"I understand. You ought to have friends your own age. It's about time, anyway."

"Yeah?" Billy asked, looking up from rearranging his duffel bag. "You think?"

"Yeah," said his father, offering him a restrained smile. "So, you've got the map to where we're meeting them?"

"Uh, yeah. Shouldn't be that hard." Billy offered his father the slightly crumpled papers. "I printed off the best I could find. The rest stop is a pretty big one."

"It's kind of Albert to offer," his father said, studying the papers. "Rare, too."

"Albert?" Billy asked, pausing halfway through zipping his bag. "You know him?"

"We did business once or twice," replied Billy's father, folding the papers and placing them in his breast pocket. "I suppose you could have done worse than to meet his son."

 _Which means I fucked up_ , Billy thought, sighing. He set his duffel bag aside and wiped his hands on his jeans. "Joey's a good guy, Dad. I can't speak for his father, but—"

"I'm not telling you who you can spend time with and who you can't," explained his father, holding up one hand. "I'm just telling you to be careful."

Billy rolled his eyes, grabbing his bag and standing up. "I'm not ten years old anymore."

"Sometimes your mother isn't so sure," said his father, mostly joking.

"F—" _uck her_ , Billy thought "—orget I mentioned it. You ready to go?"

"Whenever you are," his father said, already walking up the hall.

The drive only took an hour and a half, for which Billy was _infinitely_ grateful. The rest stop was just as Joey had described it; thank _God_ , for once, for his artist's eye. They'd barely parked when Billy got out of the car, shading his eyes and squinting at a dark limousine on the far side of the parking lot.

Whether their fathers would have much to say was irrelevant: Joey was out of the limo in a heartbeat, not even bothering to close the door behind him. If their fathers had anything to say about the fact that he had his arms around Joey in his best approximation of a companionable hug, well, best they didn't know that it wasn't _strictly_ that. Whether Joey knew or not, he was about to find out. Billy held his breath, turning his head just slightly enough to feel Joey's hair against his cheek.

"You owe me _big_ time," Joey said as Billy let go of him, smiling but afraid.

**Don't Report This**

Joey was having a hard time sitting still. His father glanced across the dinner table every five seconds, as if he expected Billy to…hell if he knew, maybe shape-shift or vanish or sprout an extra pair of arms. Mostly Billy just ate, remarking every five seconds on how good Rosemary's cooking was. Rosemary was in the kitchen, preparing espresso shots for after.

"I hadn't seen your father in quite some time," said Albert, conversationally, cutting his last stuffed shell into three careful pieces. "How's the business?"

Joey wanted to kick the nearest table leg, but he held back, pushing around the last shreds of his pasta and ricotta cheese instead. He heard Billy take a breath, preparing to answer.

"Good, as far as I know. He's got about five contracts at the moment."

"Global or domestic?"

"Um," Billy said, swallowing the bite he'd taken after responding. "Three in the U.S., one in England, one in the Middle East?"

"Good man," said Albert, approvingly. "You know what's on." He glanced at Joey, extending the smile to include both of them. "Do you have plans to follow in his footsteps after graduation?"

"Not really," Billy said, and it was the first time Joey had heard him take some kind of decisive stand on his future. "I'll probably go to college first."

"We've got a few months," Joey muttered into his glass, taking a sip of lemonade. "I don't even wanna _think_ about college applications right now."

"You'd better think about them soon," said Albert, gentle and stern all at once.

 _Fuck you_ , Joey thought, and finished his lemonade. Out of nowhere, Billy tapped the side of his leg under the table, the brush of his fingers brief and reassuring.

"Do you have plans for this evening?" Albert asked Joey, setting his silverware neatly on his empty plate. "Perhaps you ought to show Billy around the house."

"It won't take up _that_ much time," Joey said, glancing sidelong at Billy. _Get_ me _out of here?_

"I'd like that," Billy said, dropping his napkin carelessly on his plate. "If—if you don't mind, of course," he said, gesturing skillfully at Joey's father.

"Not at all," said Albert. "After espresso, perhaps?"

"I hate coffee," said Joey, loudly.

"Yeah, sounds _great_ ," said Billy, and this time his touch was apologetic.

**Fill Me With a Vengeance**

Billy was, without a doubt, a fucking fish out of water.

"And this is the guest room," Joey said, opening the door on the far side of his own room, reaching around the frame to casually flip on a light. "My parents thought maybe they'd try for another kid around the time they built this house, and they thought it would be cool if the room was joined to mine," he explained. "There's another door that opens on the hall, so it's not like you have to walk through my room to get anywhere."

"I'd feel safer that way," Billy admitted, setting his duffel bag down on the small bed. "Your father's as scary as my mom, but in a totally different way."

"Yeah," Joey admitted, plopping down beside Billy's bag. "So, what do you think?"

"Of what?"

"Of…I don't know. The house. Anything."

"The house is fucking huge," Billy said, hesitantly taking a seat beside Joey. The mattress was firm, and probably comfortable as hell. Albert had spared nothing in the building of this place; it didn't take a contractor's son to see that.

"I wish they hadn't done it," Joey murmured, staring at his hands in his lap.

"Done what?"

"Made the house so fucking huge. Made this room."

Before he could stop himself, Billy reached over and took hold of Joey's left hand. Joey's fingers were stained with graphite and ink, which wasn't anything unusual. Briefly, Billy wondered what it would do to the taste of Joey's skin, but he quickly put the thought out of his head. Since when he'd been okay with having such thoughts, let alone _fine_ …

"I'm sorry," he said in stead, squeezing Joey's hand firmly. Joey's bracelets skimmed Billy's fingertips, an unexpected and torturous tease.

"Yeah, well, what can you do," Joey sighed, shrugging, not letting go of Billy's hand. "She died about two years later. Not even."

"I still can't believe it's true," Billy blurted, lacing his fingers with Joey's. "I mean…that that kind of shit actually _happens_."

"All kinds of shit actually happens," Joey informed him, flatly.

 _I wish I could save you_ , Billy thought. "You seem tired."

"Long day," Joey sighed, finally glancing at Billy. He was almost smiling.

"Yeah. How about we call it a night?"

"Knock if you need me," Joey said, rising, letting go of Billy's hand. He hesitated in the doorway, peering over his shoulder. "If it's too dark, the window – "

"I don't need light to sleep," Billy said, turning down the covers, waving Joey off with a forced grin. _I need to know you're all right_ , he thought as Joey closed the door.

 

****

Searching by Symbols

"Garage, my fucking foot," Joey muttered, putting the car in reverse. "Buckle up."

"One step ahead of you," Billy said, glancing behind them to make sure Joey wouldn't hit the limo, which was, for some reason, in the driveway. "You're clear."

"I swear he doesn't let me drive so I'll forget how," said Joey, smoothly backing into the cul-de-sac. "Of all the stupid _shit_. Okay, so, where we going?"

"I don't know, this is your town, not mine!"

"We'd be making for the City if I had anything to say about it," Joey sighed, his eyes fixed on the road ahead.

"Why don't you?" Billy asked, raising an eyebrow. "What's to stop us?"

"Dad's spies," Joey said, matter-of-factly. "You wanna cross 'em? Good luck."

"Good point," Billy muttered, and stared out the window instead. He hadn't ever thought of New Jersey as pretty, but Joey's neighborhood _definitely_ fit the description.

"There's this coffee shop that has live music on the weekends. It's Friday."

"It's only five o'clock," Billy said. "Wouldn't we be too early?"

"Nope," replied Joey, grinning slowly. "Not if the other guys are there."

Billy glanced quickly into the back seat, then back at Joey. "No _way_. I thought you kept that out here because your Dad doesn't like to think about your rock-star life."

"No, asshole, it's out here because I promised you I'd play, and I sound like shit if I play alone. Do you have any better ideas?"

"None," Billy said, and sat back, determined to enjoy the ride in spite of his racing heart.

Michelle's was larger than Billy had imagined it would be, an airy place with wooden floors and creaky antique chandeliers. Even the tables and chairs were heavy, old things never consigned to disuse a day in their lives. Not long after they'd ordered drinks – vanilla Italian soda for Joey, a mocha for Billy—a small bunch of guys walked in, past the few other patrons, and headed straight for their table. The tall redhead kicked Joey's guitar case lightly, smirking at him with more than plain mischief.

"I didn't think you'd make it," he said, turning his eye on Billy. "Who's this?"

"Billy Tepper," Joey said. "He's from Regis. Why don't you go get drinks and ask about setting up, huh?"

"Who's this?" Billy echoed, figuring he'd earned the right _not_ to remain silent.

"Billy, this is Dean," Joey said, "but you had better call him D. Everybody else does. And that's the rest of the Brigade with him. Don't expect intelligent conversation; they smoke too much weed. But, man, they can _play_."

And play they could, definitely, but all Billy could see, as the hours slid by, was that Joey seemed to hold his guitar exactly the way that Billy wanted to hold _him_.

 

****

Wrapped in Hell, Lost My Breath

All he'd meant to do was share a bottle of red wine with Billy when they got home. That was all. He remembered that Billy had said at some point that he liked red wine better than white, and, although it was the other way around for Joey, that was music to Joey's ears. To hear that Billy liked wine at _all_ was an absolute godsend.

At which point sharing a bottle of wine had turned into lying tangled on Joey's bed, nervously breathing into each other's shirts, Joey wasn't sure. Joey glanced over Billy's shoulder, which was convenient for hiding against, at the bottle, which was tipped on its side against the comforter, completely empty. Oh. _That_ was when.

"You smell nice," Billy mutters against Joey's shoulder, his fingers wiggling somewhere in the general vicinity of Joey's hip. "I can feel booze in my bloodstream."

"It tingles," Joey agreed, finding his tongue thick. "In my legs."

"It tingles all over," Billy murmured, his breath moist through the thin fabric of Joey's t-shirt. "Didn't think half a bottle of wine could do that."

"Wait, you'd never drunk half a bottle of wine?" Joey asks, incredulous, raising his head to stare down at Billy. Billy was staring back at him, shaking his head adamantly.

"Nope. Mom's not a wine kind of woman. She keeps hard stuff around."

"No shit," Joey said, mostly to himself, lowering his head a little. "Huh."

"Your breath smells like it, too," observed Billy, slurring his words a little.

"So does yours. Who cares?"

"Well, I do. You're breathing on me."

"Does that bother you?"

"Um, _no_."

Joey frowned at him, winding his fingers in the hem of Billy's t-shirt, tugging a little. "Oh," he said, as if it had taken that many seconds to process, but really it hadn't.

"Don't hit me for asking this, but." Billy closed his eyes, taking in a deep breath through his mouth like Joey'd been taught to do when he was nauseous.

"But?" Joey asked, fairly sure Billy could feel the hammering of his heart.

"Can I kiss you?"

Joey considered this for a second. While he could readily admit that he _wanted_ Billy to kiss him, _letting_ Billy kiss him was another matter entirely. What if Billy didn't like it? What if Billy _blamed_ him?

"This one's on your head, man."

It was Billy's turn to frown, fiercely. "I won't if you don't want me to."

Joey pursed his lips, then breathed out. "Billy—"

Billy's mouth was soft and warm, and it tasted like mocha, red wine, and garlic all at once. Joey wasn't sure what he thought about that, as it didn't do much for the chocolate, but the red wine didn't clash badly with either of the other tastes, and, well, _Billy_.

"Wasn't so bad, was it?" asked Billy a few seconds later, huskily. He was tense under Joey all of a sudden, as if he wasn't relaxed anymore, or even comfortable. Joey pressed back into him and kissed him again, finding every reason they ought to be doing this, making damned sure Billy could feel it, too.

" _Mmmgh_ ," was all he managed to say in response, half groan and half whimper.

"Yeah, okay," Billy gasped, and wrapped both arms around Joey's waist. "Right."

 _Right_ , Joey thought, untangling his fingers, and put them to better use.

**Can Hardly Feel My Heart**

Billy hadn't imagined that he'd be halfway to drunk the first time he ended up sleeping with somebody. He hadn't imagined he'd be sleeping with anybody as hot as Joey, either, which made the halfway-to-drunk part more than embarrassing. He was _terrified_.

Still, that didn't stop him from letting Joey undress him bit by bit, and it didn't stop him from staring when Joey stripped out of his shirt, or from pinning Joey down against the pillows and kissing him while he unbuttoned Joey's jeans and finished the job.

"Can't believe this," Joey was saying against his mouth, arching up to meet him as Billy settled in, skin on skin at last. "Oh _fuck_ , I can't…"

"Then don't believe it," Billy whispered, but he really, _really_ preferred to. They were already moving a little, limbs tangled, cocks and bellies flush, testing the limit. Joey almost shouted when Billy bit at his neck, gasping hard into Billy's free hand, which he held clamped over his own mouth.

If Billy had any consideration at all, he would think of whose house he was in, and why they shouldn't be doing this. He would think of what might happen afterward, of all the things that could possibly go wrong the next morning: confusion, hurt, and silence. But he _did_ have consideration, more than people gave him credit for, and it didn't necessarily include thinking of any of those things. It was mostly concerned with paying attention to the way Joey moved under him, the sounds Joey made with each new kiss or lick, and the way Joey touched him—fingers splayed, then knuckles white—when he came. 

Billy followed blindly, choking Joey's name.

**Blue Blue Room**

There were no words, really, for the amount of trouble they were in.

"I won't see you again till August," Joey said, pounding his fist against the desk. " _August_."

"Shhh," said Billy, nuzzling Joey's shoulder, infuriatingly patient. "I know. I won't see you till then, either."

"I have no idea how this is going to work when we get back," Joey went on, punching the pillow next. "We're stuck in a fucking triple with Phil because Parker doesn't trust us!"

"If Parker knew what was good for him, he wouldn't trust Phil, either," said Billy, grinning.

Joey pulled away from Billy, half sitting up in order to glare at him.

"Are you listening to anything I'm saying?"

"Yes," said Billy, reassuringly, sitting up beside him. "And I don't have a fucking clue, either, but I'm going to _make_ it work. Are you with me?"

"No _shit_ ," Joey muttered, shifting into Billy's lap. The knowledge that he could do this, to do any _number_ of unthinkable things involving a naked Billy Tepper, was strangely freeing. "Of course I'm with you. I'm just angry."

"Funny, but that's not what I had in mind for our morning after."

Joey blinked at him. "You had something in _mind_?"

"After you pounced me? Sure."

"I didn't pounce you. It was the wine talking."

"Is the wine still talking?"

"No. Now it's me, but the wine started it."

"Such staggering logic! Can I have your autograph?"

"Yeah, on your _ass_ …"

The tussle was brief, but it ended with Joey's elbow colliding so hard with the corner of the desk that he saw spots for at least ten seconds afterward and couldn't make out what Billy was saying until the spots had cleared. Now they were just blobs, gliding carelessly down the contour of Billy's side.

"Hey, are you okay?" Billy was asking him, still cradling Joey's elbow.

"Yeah," Joey said, letting his head drop to Billy's shoulder, nursing a faint sense of foreboding.

 

****

This Garden That Never Closes

They parted ways on a Sunday and later met on another, the room humid and lightless except for the wind and rain through the screen. Billy didn't know when Phil was arriving, but Joey was two hours late when he finally dragged his luggage through the door, dripping. Billy dashed to meet him, almost slipping on the mess left by Joey's shoes.

"Surely that's not everything?" Billy asked, but Joey had already dropped his bags and was reaching, fingers folded as if to unseen frets.

"Not _everything_ , no," Joey said, squeezing Billy back for all he was worth. "Alessandro's still out with the car. I've got a couple of boxes."

Billy kissed him quickly, grinning, and caught both of Joey's hands against his shoulders.

"Let's go," he said, tugging Joey into the hall, and left the door open behind them.


End file.
